Twinkletoes
by xerez
Summary: How does Oliver and Felicity prepare for Digg's big day? Surprise, surprise.


After 10 years of being stuck in a writing rut, Arrow came out of nowhere and became my muse. I'd love to hear your opinion, criticism, or any form of feedback, what have you!

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. Arrow Characters belong to their Arrow fathers and mothers. Fred Astaire and his song belongs to no one else but him and him alone.

After three years of going in and out of what he personally referred as his bittersweet haven, Oliver thought that whatever the Foundry has in store for him, nothing would surprise him anymore.

"Come on, Ray, you can do better than that!" He heard Felicity's holler coming out from the stair's blind spot.

Oliver froze.

Now just because he finally came into terms into somehow accepting Ray and Felicity's brewing romance and barely surviving it doesn't give her the right to let him in on the secret. He raced downstairs, his blood shooting up and his fingers suffocating his palms. He was ready to smash Palmer, hoping that maybe a little rattle on the head was enough to make him forget or regret it, whichever worked best.

"Felici-", he growled.

Instead of seeing even just one of the million images running through his head about what Felicity and Palmer could have been doing inside the Foundry, what he actually saw was something that he had never even begun to ponder. Felicity, in her great sweating glory, was dancing. Although that was an already classic Smoak, dancing with his wooden dummy was a surprising addition to her repertoire.

"Oliver!" she stopped turning midway, her left hand grasping awkwardly at one of the protruding wooden structures.

"What are you doing here? And on a day-off? And where is Ray?" Oliver cautiously looked behind her, finding no one.

"Okay, first, I've been thinking about amping up my search algorithm. I knew I wrote something in a rush some time ago, and boy, it was so clunky it almost cramped our style. I've been wanting to optimise it but I couldn't find the time, what with all the hullaballoo happening. So instead of spending my Saturday being haunted by that terrible line of code, I went here, investigated, and boom!", she bellowed. It startled Oliver, causing him to step back.

Felicity continued unaffected, and pointed proudly at her system. "So, what we have right now is an awesome search mechanism that will put Google to shame!" Her eyes sparkled with pride.

"...okay. And Ray?"

"Really, Oliver. I give you a world-class software solution and you give me an 'okay'," she mumbled.

"Sorry, you did a great job. Thanks for taking the time. So, Ray?"

She sighed and patted his wooden dummy. "Oliver, meet my dashing dance partner, Ray."

Oliver needed time to react. "I never thought of naming this dummy. Ray seems just about right," he mused, ignoring Felicity. His amusement on Felicity's current situation made him feel like being playful.

"Excuse me, but Ray and I are learning how to dance," Felicity grinned and slapped Oliver's arm.

He chuckled. "To what does my dashing wooden dummy..." he smiled, waving his hand in circles and pointing finally to Felicity.

"...Ray," she supplied, rolling her eyes.

"Yes, to what does my dashing wooden dummy, Ray, owe the pleasure of dancing with this fair lady?"

Felicity fidgeted with her everyday shirt peppered with beads of sweat that did not escape Oliver's attention. She looked like she was hesitating on whether or not to divulge information. Oliver raised an eyebrow.

"I'm taking Ray to Digg and Lyla's wedding. I wanted to show him a good time by actually knowing how to dance. I remember having fun dancing with Barry, but I don't think his feet shared the same memory."

Well that seemed like two arrows to the heart. Oliver looked down and took a sharp intake of breath. She bit her lip.

"...which is really something I should not be bothering you about. I mean, that is, if you are bothered. Aren't you? Is this okay? Me talking about this? Yeah? No. Okay." Felicity shook her head, taking notice of Oliver's downcast mood. She looked like she was scolding herself for bringing it up, but then cleared her face of her frown, as if she arrived at a resolve. "Maybe I'll just go and sign up with an actual dance instructor who can work miracles overnight."

Oliver caught her wrist. "Wait."

Felicity turned around. "I'd love to stay and laugh about how stupid this is, Oliver, but I really want to learn. I tried YouTube, WikiHow, and heck, even Ray here, but it's not working out for me," she rattled, trying to shake her hand loose. "I need a dance teacher."

"I can help you with that," Oliver countered.

"Don't tell me there's a Queen Family Dance Instructor because that'd be... Or wait, is there?" Felicity tried peeking under the hand that now covered Oliver's face.

Finally, Oliver looked up, his jaw tight, obviously debating on whether or not he should proceed with his anticipated revelation. "I can't believe I'd see the day when there would be another person besides my mother who will know about this," he sighed.

"Know about what?", she said, squinting in confusion, but still alert in case it was one of those days Oliver felt like talking about his enigmatic past.

Burying his head, he mumbled, "I know how."

"Oliver, be a little specific and stop testing my patien-"

"I know how to dance, okay?!", Oliver declared in a roar.

That day, the walls chose to deflect the sound waves, causing "dance, okay?!" reverberate around the room, making it feel like they were in a horrible sitcom.

"Ah?" was all Felicity could stutter.

While he did regret having to reveal his hidden dancing prowess, a bigger part of him felt relieved he didn't have to carry such an overbearing, dignity-shattering truth from one of the two closest people he has for a family. That and the fact that he actually has something to offer to the table besides being an excellent brooding masochist against his rival's incredible scholastic achievements was enough to make him feel a hint of pride.

"Well, yes, of course you know how to dance!" she snapped, shaking her head and successfully pulling her hand from his grip. "You club-danced yourself to death like it was your calling!", Felicity exclaimed, as if offended by the fact that he is offering his skills as a club frequent to solve her problems.

Oliver retrieved Felicity's hand, turning her to reveal a face that looked like an impatient child about to whine a myriad of complaints. Too adorable. Before he could think it through, he pulled her close and placed his free arm on her shoulder blade. Finally, he extended his left hand holding her right.

"Clubs don't exactly appreciate a nice waltz," he continued, suddenly feeling his embarrassment dwarf with a surge of confidence. He stared at her, aware that while she was obviously hesitant, she was charmed.

"Okay, Mister. Surprise me," she challenged. He plastered a smug grin, and with this, he raised both their hands up and twirled Felicity around. The rush at the end of the turn caused her hand to fall on his chest. They both stared at it and tried to ignore the electricity that sparked at the contact. Oliver knew he had to control himself.

"That's supposed to go here," he instructed as he caught her hand and placed it on the top of his shoulder, releasing the breath he didn't know he held. Felicity, on the other hand, felt even more tense.

"Relax, we're learning how to dance, not how to ward off attackers. Now, look left," he cooed. He didn't even know he had the ability to coo.

She blinked and exhaled loudly, looking like she was giving herself a pep talk. Now she was serious. "Okay, Twinkletoes Queen, what's the next?", she looked at him straight, the fire of determination flashing in her eyes as if dancing was another Arrow mission. She was really something, this woman.

"Let's begin with the easiest, the Box Step", he stepped back, releasing her as he demonstrated the infamous step with such gusto that entertained Felicity to no end.

"Digg would totally cry when he hears about this,", she giggled.

"The teacher does not appreciate a smart mouth in the middle of class,", he answered back, a bit more serious than he intended.

"Sorry, Mr. Queen, the delinquent will now be shutting up." She made a zipping gesture on her mouth and then smiled.

"Good. Now, you," he directed her to do the same on the imaginary spot.

The step was elementary. Felicity shot him a questioning look.

"Be patient, young Padawan. I am merely measuring your familiarity with the dance," he assured.

"Dancing while referencing Star Wars. I should really be visiting the lair during day-offs."

"You know I was gone last 2007 and not 1977, right?" he said, surprised at himself that he can look back at the most bitter parts of his life and take it with a grain of salt when he's talking to her.

When Felicity replicated the step, he was able to evaluate what she needed to learn. Her dance needed drama and fluidity. Her waltz right now was popping and stiff. "Okay, you did well, but try adding a little bit of flair when you rise. Lift your heels gradually from the ground as if doing it takes effort."

Now he was serious, too.

He appreciated the fact that she tried fighting back a sarcastic comment tempting to escape her mouth. Instead, she followed his instructions a couple of times until he deemed it was good enough.

What was first playful banter was now a serious dance class. Oliver digged through stock knowledge, trying to remember what to call the steps that his muscles already memorized as he watched Felicity practice vigorously in front of him. He organised his lessons in an impromptu, looking back at his previous mentor's teaching methods, evaluating which ones worked on him and which ones didn't.

From box steps they went to blockings, then the proper way to hold your partner (which, in fairness to the both of them, were handled very professionally), and then the basic turns. She mentioned her curiosity about the dance segments in movies where both dancers seemed to know what the next step is and how practical is it in real life. This question led Oliver to teach her visual cues to anticipate the change in movements.

"Amazing," she remarked.

The next part of the class was directed by her. She laid out all the questions she had while researching the waltz on the web. "Waltz on the Web! That's a fantastic website!", she segued, while looking for her list. The underarm and the ⅜ turn, the whisks, the backward and forward changes were all answered by Oliver's effortless demonstrations. Finally understanding the movements, she expressed her gratitude with an outpour of thanks, saying that reading the steps' explanations on a website was like trying to makes sense of a difficult mathematical equation.

Three hours passed by, and while there were still instances of Felicity stepping on Oliver's feet, she caught on. It turns out she just needed someone to guide her and validate her understanding of the dance.

The Foundry only heard of repeating 1-2-3's, one sentence conversations, and tapping heels until sunset. It was only when the computer beeped, which signified the system's successful status report, that both of them stepped back to reality.

"Okay, take five," announced Oliver. "Can I get you anything?"

"Water would be awesome," gasped Felicity. "I'll be at the table to check on my benchmark."

Oliver nodded and went to fetch themselves a couple of bottles. When he went back, he found Felicity slumped lazily on her high chair, her face covered with her towel. He nudged her with her bottle.

"Fenksh," came out her muffled voice.

"Sure," he replied. He sat on the floor beside her, exhaustion removing his reserve. He placed his head on the chair's handle.

"So... dancing," Felicity turned her head from the computer to Oliver sitting down next to her.

"Yes, dancing," he waited.

"Am I entitled to a backstory? Not forcing you or anything." She looked like she's about to jump on strange waters. He felt his mouth tug on the sides.

He stared at the floor, recalling his reasons and the story that went with it. "There were times when my mother would be sad. She didn't have to say it, but you can see how the wrinkles around her eyes looked more like bags than lines,"

"Whenever that happened, my father would dim the lights and just dance with her, with or without Thea or me watching. I made it a point to watch them dance, though, because I saw how it transformed my mom's frown into a full-fledged smile,"

"So I asked Dad to teach me how just in case Mom would be sad again and he wouldn't be here. He did, but it was basic. I was determined to dance so well so that my mom would only need a step before smiling."

He heard Felicity sigh with adoration.

"So I secretly signed up for a class at the Glades, where not a lot of people knew me. Tommy got suspicious because I hung around my driver a lot more often than with him. Eventually, he shrugged it away when I asked him to stop." He recollected how Tommy had this frustrated face that looked like he was arguing with himself if he should let it go or not. The memory of it never ceased to make him laugh.

"I enjoyed it. I took the class seriously and the coach was pleased with me. So pleased that he called my mother up and suggested I join a competition or something." He caught Felicity's gasp.

"Don't tell me you have a medal stashed here somewhere!" Felicity shot up from her chair and immediately surveyed the lair.

"No, I didn't join. When I got home, Mom was laughing and telling me that some crazy prankster called up and asked permission for me to join a dance competition," he recalled. "I told her that that was crazy, and that I would never enter a dance tournament, but I also told her the truth about my dancing classes. Suffice to say, she had to sit down to take it in."

"Oh, you and your secrets," supplied Felicity.

He laughed. "After processing what I confessed to her, she stood up and told me the exact, same words. 'Surprise me'," with that, he looked up at Felicity.

Pink tint spotted her cheeks when he looked at her. Apparently, the only way she thought of escaping her embarrassment was to gulp on water.

"So I did surprise her. And I did make her smile. Heck, I even made her laugh so loud, Raisa came in, worried that there might have been a problem. When I explained that I was just dancing with my Mom, Raisa gave me this knowing smile and left us alone."

"Um, did you ever dance with Laurel?" She looked like she can't pass the chance of asking.

"No. I stopped taking lessons when the coach wouldn't stop bugging me with tournaments. Besides, I already got what I needed. That, and high school happened."

"You should have seen how Troy Bolton handled it. I can totally see you in a high school musical. In fact, I cannot unsee it anymore," she said, trying to suppress a grin.

He pointed at her, entertaining her teasing. "See? That's why only my mother knows about this."

"Why? I don't judge!" defended Felicity.

"No, you don't," he smiled in agreement. "Anyway, I lost enthusiasm in it along the way. The only time I danced was when I went clubbing. I had legitimate dance moves, you know," he quipped.

"Oh, I've heard."

Silence ensued. It wasn't awkward. It was just silence shared by two friends. Oliver was reminiscing his old ways and Felicity was imagining them. After a while, she broke the silence.

"Thank you, Oliver, for the free dance lesson and the story that came along with it," she said, leaning towards him and patting his back. "It meant a lot."

"I had fun. Besides, we're not done yet." He stood, grunting. "Come on, let's put what you learned to the test." He offered his hand.

"Is it weird that I'm actually nervous? Because this feels like prom, except that someone wanted to dance with me," she recalled with a hint of hurt in her voice as she took his hand and followed him to the center of the lair.

"Wallflower?", he asked, frowning.

"Yup. My pre-goth ways weren't so popular," she mentioned with a forced laugh. He felt her hands sweat.

"Well, they missed out on a good waltz," he looked at Felicity who had her head down. "Hey. Boys are often too dumb to notice in high school."

"Yeah, I know," she tried hiding a sniffle. She finally raised her head, rubbing stray tears when she looked at him straight. "'Nuff about that, let's dance!" exclaimed Felicity, though her voice still a little shaky.

She looked like she didn't want to dwell on it, so he let it go. "Okay. Here's what we're gonna do. Three standard box steps, turn, another three for rotating, turn, and then five progressive, mix one progressive with one twinkle, and then we whisk. First me, then you. Got that?"

She murmured his choreography and then nodded. "Yup, Smoak's got it."

Oliver received her hand once again. He knew that they have been at it for hours, but somehow, somewhere in between their shared sentiments and memories, their acceptance and their understanding for each other swelled, and that made this final dance feel like it had more weight to it than the previous ones. He wondered if Felicity felt the same. Her gulp answered his question.

He led the first few steps, but she was so out of it that he stopped.

"Felicity, it's not that I'm grading you," he assured.

"Yeah, yeah. I just have these pre-exam jitters that never really went away." He knew she was fibbing.

"We're already in the examination. Calm down," he rubbed her shoulders with the hand that rested there. She tensed even more.

Oliver had to try a different approach, something that will distract the both of them from the anxiety caused by their connection. He drew in a breath, relaxed his grip on her hand, and lifted his palms from her shoulder until it was only his thumb hovering on it.

Then he started humming.

He felt Felicity's eyes staring him down while dancing. "Fred Astaire?", she asked. It worked. Felicity's rigidness was washed over by a pleasant countenance.

"Never took you for an old soul, but yes, Fred Astaire." He stared back, smiling at her.

"Never took you for one either, but I love that song." She hummed along.

What followed was a successful waltz. They both moved with grace, dramatizing each step, but still flitting and elegant enough to create the impression that they were walking on eggshells. Nothing else could be heard except for their breaths delivered in tunes and the light wind whooshing caused by their turns. True to the form of the dance, both of them looked opposite ways, only taking a glimpse to await the cue of changing directions.

He was at the top of his form, never missing a beat. Inside, however, was a different matter. His feelings were waging a war against his control. He started humming "They Can't Take that Away from Me" just because he felt the relaxing melody would benefit both of their nerves. Fred's version of the song also has a slow tempo to allow a little mercy on Felicity who had the tendency to rush shifting from one step to another.

But then he remembered the song's lyrics, about how he's holding on to every memory of Felicity shared with him. He saw visions of their first encounter, their fights, and the many moments she made her laugh without even trying. He enjoyed the recollection, but was cut short when the last stanza reminded him of the choice he made to let her go. He made the decision to kill himself by giving her the chance to chase after the happiness that she so deserved, even if it meant finding it in another person. It drove him up the wall, the way every verse just hit too close to home.

He tried to maintain composure, but he eventually lost it.

"'...the memory of all that, no, they can't take that away from me'," he sang. He couldn't resist saying the words aloud. He finally gave in to the temptation of pulling her closer, dropping the outstretched hands and lowering the other one from her shoulders. Felicity, seemingly mesmerised, placed both her arms around his neck and leaned into his chest. She stopped humming.

He didn't. He embraced her, forgetting the next steps, forgetting Palmer, and forgetting the world. He led the shift from the complicated dance to just stepping from side to side. She had no qualms and quietly followed suit.

He needed Felicity in his life, badly. He needed to hold her in his arms to remind him that she's still there, safe, and happy. He wanted her, but he just can't give her the life she was worthy of having. Every thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Um, Oliver?" Felicity snapped him out of it.

"Sorry. Sorry. I just… I need it. I guess I just needed it." he shook his head and gave her an apologetic smile. He tried positioning back to the standard waltz, but she brushed him off.

"S'okay," she returned her arms around him. "I think I need it, too," she sighed.

He decided not to overthink and just enveloped her in a tight hug. They continued swaying, and this time, Felicity was the one humming the song. He felt like they were inside the situation they both wanted all along. He wished it was this easy to go and be together, but he had no choice but to settle for the closeness they both have now. Still, he felt thankful. He closed his eyes, inhaled the scent of her shampoo, felt the softness of her skin, and took note of her face buried in his chest. He tried imprinting the moment into his memory, and this memory was something that nobody, no situation can take away from him.

When she finished, in an unspoken agreement, they both released each other. After staring at each other longingly, a flash of awkward passed through. Oliver rubbed his nape and Felicity fiddled with the loose curls of her hair.

"So… did I pass?" Felicity decided to release the tension first. Oliver laughed, relief flooding him as he did.

"Yes," he answered. He almost wanted to add his thanks to Felicity for always making it easy for him.

"Yes!" Felicity pumped her fist up in the air. "Oh, I can't wait to show off!"

He smirked. "Easy there, tiger. If I were grading you, it'd be a B," Oliver teased.

"A B?! Not even an A minus?! I only had one A minus, Oliver, and it was PE!"

"I wasn't the one who forgot to whisk, Felicity. You made your grade," he said, chuckling as he went to retrieve his towel.

"Oliver, c'mon! I got distracted! Oh, come on, that's unfair! I thought you weren't grading me!" she wailed as Oliver turned his back on her.

"Not changing my mind, Padawan. Run along now," he waved as he walked towards the bathroom for a shower.

"You'll regret this, Queen. Someday I'll be so good I'll be running circles or… or viennese waltz turns around you!", she shouted, stomping and making her last claims with her forefinger pointing in the air.

"I'll be on the lookout then. See you at the wedding, Felicity." He turned around before entering the shower.

"See you," was all she said. Oliver took one last glimpse on Felicity before heading inside. She had this torn look on her face. He finally closed the door.

He suddenly heard his name called from the other side of the room.

"Yes?", he replied.

He wasn't so sure, but he thought Felicity said something that resembled, "thank you" and "I hope we can do this again".

He looked at his reflection in the mirror and gave himself a sad smile.

Oliver was dancing with Lyla. Beside them was Felicity and Ray having fits of laughter. He couldn't help but join in the fun, what with Felicity showing off like she'd known how to waltz for a long time. She taught Ray basic steps that they could both handle. Oliver could see genuine curiosity etched into Ray's face.

"Wow, I didn't know you knew how to dance, Felicity," Ray finally asked.

"Oh, no, I really didn't," she confirmed. She looked at Oliver's direction, with the person in question looking at her, too. "I knew somebody who was a real Dancing Queen." She mocked him with an evil laugh and went back to giving her full attention to Ray.

Oliver just had to say "B" aloud and it had Felicity lifting her gown and gearing for an attack. Good thing Ray stepped on her foot. He laughed.

"You doing good, Oliver?" Lyla suddenly asked.

That caught him off-guard. "I'm hanging on," he answered.

"Hey," Lyla had this concerned look on her face which told him that she was, in no way, convinced. "You know, when John and I separated, the thought of marrying anybody again was never a choice," she shared. "But here I am, a mom, a wife again, and with John, of all people," Lyla said with a chortle.

"Everything's come in full circle, yes?"

"Yes. I guess we just needed time for ourselves. I'm wishing it will be the same for you and Felicity," she mused.

"Lyla, you know that's-", Oliver tried to interrupt.

"You know, Oliver, I have this military type of gut feeling. I'm willing to bet on it," she challenged.

Oliver closed his eyes and thought about what she said. It was opposite of what he's trying to do, but still, he couldn't help but root for Lyla's bet.


End file.
